Sunday Nights

Sunday Nights,

do your best to slouch off of me

your doomed stillness

in this city, is one of hurry home 

and sit and wait for morning

I’ve got a love inside these doors

it is from my perch at her bedroom window

that I see Park Avenue

Sunday traffic

which is a parade of taxis

a march of wheels and honking

and obscenities, even on this, the lord’s day

and speaking of that hallowed grace,

where in the hell is my sacred space

if i cannot get myself to a church

if i cannot summon the patience to listen to another preach

i did when i was a kid

and then i got my license

i tell you, i am here

i am inside

and i am crawling away from the time

that is laughing at me

oh you want it to wait, do you?